


five times grantaire kissed enjolras, and one time enjolras kissed grantaire

by Penthos



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: M/M, and just, this is really stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthos/pseuds/Penthos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>that's it, that's the fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	five times grantaire kissed enjolras, and one time enjolras kissed grantaire

i.

The first time it happened, Grantaire was drunk. They had been at the cafe as usual, and a bottle of wine had been passed around. And then another, and another, until the only person drinking it was Grantaire. Finally, when his drunken shouts and crude comments had become too much, Enjolras snatched the bottle away, putting it down next to his chair. 

It took Grantaire a minute to comprehend what had happened through his drunken haze, but then he fixed Enjolras with a look and a smirk.

‘Give it back.’ He said. 

‘No.’

Their friends had quieted down, watching both men with bated breath. Anger was flaring in Enjolras’ eyes as he watched Grantaire stand up, clutching Courfeyrac’s arm for support. 

‘Give it back.’ He repeated, before sitting down next to Enjolras.

‘No.’ 

Enjolras didn’t even flinch when Grantaire kissed him. It wasn’t so much of a kiss, more of a clash of lips, and Grantaire didn’t even succeed in grabbing the bottle off the floor, which Enjolras held tighter. He could taste the wine on his lips, and recoiled.

There was silence around them, eyes darting between them, before Grantaire rose with a shrug, and left.

ii.

The second time, it was an accident. Or that was what Enjolras kept telling himself. 

They had been watching tv, and it had been going relatively well, with Combeferre keeping the peace and deterring any irrelevant snide comments. But then Combeferre left the room, and Grantaire made a grab for the control. 

‘Hey!’ Enjolras shouted, because there was no way he was letting Grantaire change the channel. He lurched across the sofa, snatching at it, but Grantaire leant away, trying in vain to press the buttons. He was putting up a valiant attempt, one arm shoving Enjolras back while the other waved in the air with the remote. 

And then Grantaire was falling on top of him, his body weight pushing him back into the sofa. Their eyes locked, determination flaring, while their arms grappled for the control. It was a wonder Combeferre hadn’t returned yet, really.

But then Grantaire’s elbow slipped, and he fell forwards with a gasp, and somehow, Enjolras still had no idea how the fuck it had happened, their lips had aligned. It was less than a second but they stopped moving, Grantaire still on top of Enjolras, staring down with wide eyes.

‘Sorry.’ He said gruffly, and jumped up, thrusting the remote to Enjolras and retreating to the seat in the corner. No more was said between them, and when Combeferre arrived he looked between them with a raised eyebrow and stayed quiet.

iii.

Enjolras glared at Grantaire across the room from where he sat on the floor, and didn’t move. A cheer went up from their friends who were seated on the floor around the bottle and Grantaire raised his arms in mock celebration. 

Enjolras cursed Courfeyrac for suggesting the stupid game, cursed Eponine for chiding him into it, and especially Grantaire for spinning the fucking bottle. 

Grantaire was strolling across the circle with ease, ignoring the wolf whistles and cat calls as he sat down in front of Enjolras. 

He shifted where he sat, watching Grantaire closely, and for a moment they stayed there, blue eyes looking into green, calculating each other. A slight nod, and they leant in, lips meeting in the middle for the briefest moment, before both parties tore away.

Enjolras continued his glaring and Grantaire returned to his seat, and maybe it was Enjolras’ imagination but his cheeks looked redder.

iv.

Enjolras ignored the soft crunch of footsteps on grass, lifting his book further over his face. He heard a sigh as someone sat down beside him, squinting up to see who it was. Grantaire. He made a noise in the back of his throat, and held the book resolutely above him from where he lay.

‘Everyone’s going to the beach and they told me to come and ask if you wanted to come. They’re leaving in fifteen minutes.’ 

Enjolras ignored him.

‘Oh come on, Enjy,’ That earned him a sharp look, ‘Come and have some fun for once.’ 

‘I am having fun.’ He replied, turning the page even though he had barely taken in a word since Grantaire had sat down.

‘Oh yeah, reading,’ Grantaire twisted so he was hovering above the book, ‘The rise and fall of political economy. Fun stuff.’ 

With a frustrated huff, Enjolras earmarked his page and put the book down. Grantaire grinned.

‘So you’re coming.’ He was still hovering slightly over him, closer than was probably socially acceptable, but Enjolras couldn’t find it in him to care. 

He was considering sitting up, despite how comfortable he was in the warm grass, when Grantaire was suddenly much closer, his dark hair brushing Enjolras’ forehead. And then he kissed him, quickly on the lips, before rolling over and laughing madly. 

‘Your..face,’ He wheezed, ‘You look..like someone just…kicked a puppy..’ He gasped between laughter while Enjolras sat up.

‘Shut up.’ He said, but lacking conviction because Grantaire’s laughter was contagious and soon even he was smirking. The laughter died down, and Enjolras looked at him. Grantaire ducked his head with another laugh, and they went to find their friends.

v.

Enjolras was drunk. He was aware he was drunk, which was probably a good thing, but he didn’t particularly like the light headedness and confusion that came with it. He didn’t know why he was hanging upside down over the sofa either, but it felt nice, idly listening to his friends in the other room.

Someone strolled in and stopped. Someone in bottle green jeans and converse. Who was sniggering and approaching the sofa. He felt it sink down beside him, and then he rolled forwards, struggling to sit upright again while his head span.

‘You’re drunk.’ Said Grantaire, and there was a malicious glint in his eyes.

‘Yeah? And?’ Enjolras snapped. He had been informed that he was an angry drunk. He had also been informed that he was always angry, so he didn’t think the drink made much difference.

‘You’re never drunk.’ Grantaire said simply. There was a pause while they looked at each other, and Grantaire licked his lips. Those lips were all too suddenly on Enjolras’, his mind working slower than usual. It wasn’t a friendly kiss. It wasn’t even a ‘I’m gonna kiss you for a joke’ kiss. It was a proper fucking kiss that Enjolras shouldn’t be enjoying, except he was.

He was vaguely aware of Grantaire’s hands slipping under his shirt and his own tangled in Grantaire’s black curls, tugging him closer. And then, just as suddenly as it had begin, Grantaire was pulling away, a strange look in his eyes, before leaving the room.

+

Grantaire slashed angrily at the canvas with his charcoal, streaks and lines decorating it, half resembling a man. His mind flicked through the previous night’s events, hating himself and hating Enjolras. But mostly himself, because he didn’t think he could ever truly hate Enjolras.

Five kisses. Three drunken ones, one accidental (or maybe it hadn’t been?), and one… One because he couldn’t stop himself. That was the only one he couldn’t justify. He didn’t know if he regretted it or not.

The door opened behind him and he span around, ready to demand why they hadn’t knocked. The charcoal dropped from his hand when he saw Enjolras, and he stepped in front of the canvas as subtly as possible. Which wasn’t very subtle because he kicked over a can of paint, but he chose to ignore that.

‘Hi.’ He said, hoping he sounded normal. His hands flitted to his hips, and he tried to smile casually. 

Enjolras didn’t say anything. There was a steely glint in his eyes, and a strange look on his face, but then he was crowding Grantaire against the wall and kissing him. Enjolras was kissing him. 

He wondered if he was dead and this was some lovely heaven that he didn’t deserve, but then Enjolras was tugging his hair and he came back to earth. He wanted to touch Enjolras, map out his body beneath him. His blackened hands left finger marks on his hips, streaks down his face and handprints on his white shirt. It was too much and not enough.

Finally, he pressed his fingers to Enjolras’ chest, pushing him back ever so slightly. His breath caught as he looked at him, a defiled angel. His hair was pushed back and raked through, his shirt black and grey and his lips bright red. 

‘Seven.’ Enjolras murmured, before kissing him again.


End file.
